Try as I Might
by chocolatebearturk
Summary: She doodles flowers around the holes of her loose-leaf papers.


**Try as I Might  
POTR

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**Dedication: Angellwings, for inspiring me. And suburbs, for reminding me to post this!

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Brown hair was swept up into a low bun that rested on the base of her neck. Hair too short to fit into the elastic framed her perfect little face, curling around her cheeks and sticking to glossed lips that had curved into a soft smile. Her hand, so small, so delicate, clutched the pencil as she slowly led it in loops around the hole of her loose leaf paper. It was the perfect moment. He just had to do it—he couldn't stop himself.

_Snap._

She jumped, startled, and looked in the direction of the noise. Her mouth opened in surprise when she saw who was holding the camera. "Nick! What are you doing?" she hissed, putting down the pencil and moving to take the camera from his hands. It was her own, and an expensive one at that, but it hadn't stopped him from playing with it every time it was within reach. He just loved the way it felt in his hands, the weight of it, the sound it made when he snapped a picture.

"I was taking a picture," he said, dodging away from her. He gave her a cheeky grin. "For the art project. You don't want me to fail, do you, Mace?"

She gave him a glare, but made no more moves to take back her coveted camera. She had agreed at the start of the project that he could take a few pictures of her for the collage, seeing as she had so many readily available for him and all he could find were old family photos and portraits printed beside news articles. Now that she thought about it, though, it wasn't really fair. He'd done photo shoots that created the illusion of an invasion of privacy, made it look like the audience was getting an intimate view of the subject. Here, he was actually taking intimate, private pictures of her and allowing the world to see them.

She still wasn't sure how she felt about that. And yet… when Nick finally allowed her to see the picture he'd taken, of her doodling a flower around the hole of her notebook paper, she felt her breath gust out of her lungs with the shock. He'd actually made her… _beautiful_.

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_She doodles flowers around the holes of her loose-leaf papers._

Nick stared at the picture with a discontented frown as he traced the edges of the photo. He ran a finger over the caption, remembering how the ink had stained his hands as he tried to write little quotes and catchphrases to go on each page. Macy had chided him, after she'd overcome her shock, for adding such an insignificant thing to the book, saying that it wasn't very relevant. He had retorted that her inclusion of his inability to whistle an actual tune was just as inane. They'd come to an agreement: nothing was too silly, and nothing was too serious.

He flipped through the pages until he came to another photo that caught his eye. Macy had given him a copy of this one and sometimes he wondered if it was too much. Herself, her mother, and her grandmother were all huddled under a willow tree. She was twelve and wearing an uncharacteristic black dress. Once he'd gotten over how different she looked, with braces on her teeth and her hair cropped around her ears, he'd started to notice other things. Her mother and her grandmother were wearing formal black dresses as well, and they all seemed to have red-rimmed eyes. And though they clutched at one another as if that was the only thing holding them up, their smiles still radiated happiness.

He found out from Macy that the photo was taken at her father's funeral. She had smiled happily and told him about how much that day meant to her: her paternal grandmother, the one pictured, had flown all the way out from Australia and decided that day to move to America, to be closer to her granddaughter. Macy had laughed as she recounted the odd looks people had given the three of them, who had smiled all the way through eulogy.

_She smiles even when her world is falling apart, because she knows that she can put it all together again._

He sniffed a little and turned the page quickly, determined not to get emotional at a time like this. A smile crossed his face when he saw the next picture, showcasing Macy and Stella during one of their "bonding moments." If he remembered correctly, the picture was taken the day that Macy turned Van Dyke down for a date and Stella had just _happened_ to witness the showdown. (Okay, so Joe had dragged her by the sleeve when he found out what was going on.) The two girls had blissful looks on their faces as they hugged one another tightly. Nick was lucky he'd brought his camera with him, or else he would have missed the opportunity for a great Friend-a-Versary picture.

_She's fiercely loyal and a fantastic friend._

Off to the side, he'd doodled a little picture of Van Dyke with a black eye. Macy had found that incredibly hilarious, so he'd left it in. The teacher didn't seem to recognize the person or, if she did, she didn't say anything.

He turned the page again and was struck by a scent. He'd forgotten that he'd sprayed Macy's perfume on some of the pages. Here, there was no picture, only a little lock of hair that Macy had graciously sacrificed for the sake of the project and that he'd carefully taped to the page. Written in his messy scrawl were two lines: _she smells like the ocean after a storm_ and _her hair shines brighter than any stage lights._ Macy had blushed a deep crimson after reading that, but he'd pretended not to notice.

Moving on, he found a picture he'd taken during one of her games. Her hair was up in pigtails, as was her custom whenever she played a sport (at least, that's what the caption said), and her mouth was open wide as she kicked the soccer ball toward the goal. Her burgundy uniform twisted around her in the action of the moment and fierce determination showed in her face. Her fists were clenched tightly as she focused all of her energy on punting the ball across the field. She'd been stunningly beautiful. On the page next to it was a quote.

"_I play sports because that's a part of what makes me Macy. Music is part of what makes you Nick, right? It's the same way with my sports. I get anxious and frustrated when I can't play. It's just who I am."_

He remembered being stunned by her answer, awed by how profound it was. Whatever he'd expected her to say, it hadn't been that. And yet… it was also so _Macy_. The deep thinking, the profound statements, they were just what she did. It wasn't something she had to think about or an act that she put on. It was just… _Macy_.

He flipped the page again and smiled softly at a picture of her and Joe during a particularly hilarious DDR battle. Before he had time to recall the finer points, however, someone jerked the curtain back on his bunk. He let out a little yelp and fumbled the book, nearly dropping it on the ground. Kevin gave him a look of alarm.

"You okay, man? You've been sighing and turning pages in there for an hour now," he said bluntly, taking a step back to give his brother some breathing room. Nick rolled his eyes, but nodded after a moment. He pulled the book back into his lap to continue reading it, until Kevin saw what it was. He snatched the book away and gave him a reproving look. "Dude, really? This is the fifth time since the tour started that I've caught you with this thing."

"Give it back, man," Nick said, crawling out of the bunk to go after his brother. Kevin took several steps back, still clutching the book to his chest. "We've been away for a _while_, Kevin. I'm allowed to miss my friends."

"We've been gone for a _week_," Kevin said, pointing an accusing finger at him. "A _week_ and you're already acting like some kind of lovesick puppy. You won't even admit that you like her."

Nick scoffed. "Maybe because I don't?"

"Then why did you bring _this_?" The older boy held up the book and gestured at it, an expectant look on his face. Nick fumbled to answer for a moment before he gave up and launched himself at his brother. "Oy! I'm only trying to get you to quit being so _Joe_!"

"What?" Nick sat back with a gasp. "How _dare_ you compare me to him! I am _not_ Joe!"

Kevin scoffed. "Coulda fooled me, little bro. Sighing over the _Book of Macy_ for an hour straight, sniffling when you get to that one picture of her with her mom and her grandma—"

"How long have you been sitting there listening to me read this?" the younger boy hissed as he finally managed to snatch the book back.

"A _while_," Kevin said. "It was either listen to you mope or watch Joe fail at Guitar Hero, and you know that I can hardly stand to see that."

Nick conceded that this, at least, was true. But he still resented being compared to Joe. He and Kevin sat on the floor in virtual silence before Nick finally spoke up.

"Do you really think I have… a _thing_ for Macy?" he asked quietly. Kevin gave him a long, hard look.

"Look, little bro," he said. "I can't do this for you. You've got to figure out your feelings on your own. And when you do, for God's sake, _do_ something about it." As an afterthought, he added, "And if you miss her that bad, just call her."

He got up and left Nick with his "Book of Macy," leaving the younger boy wondering what to do. He glanced at his watch and winced, realizing what time it would be for Macy if he called her now. He sent another look at the cover of the "Book of Macy." It was a picture of himself and her, sitting at the lunch table, with arms thrown carelessly around one another's shoulders. His heart ached momentarily before he reached for his cell phone.


End file.
